


Where I Want to Go

by Disclaimer_Fic



Series: Disclaimer [2]
Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Skateboarder Jensen, Tattoo Artist Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disclaimer_Fic/pseuds/Disclaimer_Fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In September '06, a skater walks into a tattoo parlor. The rest, as they say, is history.  (Disclaimer Prequel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Want to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my livejournal in October 2009.

Jared doesn’t cry, like ever, about anything.

So it’s strange, as he stands in the middle of Slinging Ink - his very own tattoo parlor right on the beach in sunny Santa Monica - that he feels the undeniable sting of tears building behind his eyes. He’s surrounded by the scent of fresh paint and new leather, the buffed-and-shined hardwood slick against the bottom of his boots. The early morning sunrise blazes through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop. It’s all Jared can do to keep himself upright as he takes it all in, tries to reconcile the fact that this is his now.

The shop itself isn’t new. It’s not even new to him. He’s owned the place for two years, but it was twenty-five-years-old when he bought it. The remodel has taken what feels like a lifetime but, now that it’s done, Jared finally feels like it’s his.

It means something to a kid who grew up with pretty much nothing to his name for the greater majority of his life. He saved every dime he made tattooing back in Texas, from the time he was sixteen until his eighteenth birthday, to buy himself a truck and get the hell out. He never hated the city itself, but he never had a life there, either, not one he could call his own anyway.

Arriving in California with the clothes on his back, a spare set on the seat next to him, and some secondhand tat equipment, Jared didn’t really care that he didn’t own stuff. He just cared that his life was going to be better, that he was going to make it that way for himself with no one else’s help.

It’s worked out pretty well, too, obviously. Now he owns a bad ass tattoo parlor, which he runs with his closest friends, and makes a living pounding celebrity flesh. He shares an apartment with his best friend, Chad, and has his own bed that he bought for himself. He owns a business, which is cool, but the fact that he’s not dead or in jails puts him miles ahead of where anyone back in Texas thought he would be at twenty-four.

A banging at the back door draws Jared out of his thoughts and back into the present. 

Sophia and Sandy helped him pick out the furniture and the wall colors. Chad designed the new logo, splashed colorfully across the front window and hanging in neon over the reception desk. None of them have seen the renovated shop yet, though. Steve knew the contractors that installed the floor and did the brick work along the East-facing wall, but hasn’t been allowed inside for the better part of two weeks, either.

He can hear Chad shouting for him to _stop being a stupid fucking asshole and let us the fuck in_ from the other side of the back entrance. Jared will never let them know what a big deal this is for him, what it means to be revealing his vision for what he’s wanted Slinging Ink to be since before he bought it, to his family.

“Chill the fuck out, asshole!” he barks as he pushes the door open. 

All four of them - Sophia, Sandy, Steve, and Chad - all roll their eyes and push past him into the new employee kitchen and break room. 

Sandy passes him with a bright smile, hands him a steaming cup of coffee from the espresso bar down the pier, and automatically turns her cheek up for the thank you kiss that he always gives her when she brings him coffee.

Jared barely has time to lift the cup to his lips before he hears Sophia squeal. He turns to watch her hands gliding slowly over the soft contours of the massage chair she’s been begging him for since she started working with them. It’s been her contention that they spend the majority of their days hunched over their clients, that a vibrating chair can only help their posture and benefit their overall health and well-being. 

Jared is pretty sure she just wants to have sex with Chad in it. As long as they clean up after themselves and Jared never, ever has to know about it, he’s okay with the chair.

“You are the best boss ever!,” Sophia screeches running across the room and launching herself into Jared’s arms, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The kiss she presses to his mouth is unexpected but not altogether terrible.

“Dude!” Chad shouts, voice stern as Sophia turns her head and matches Jared’s eyebrow raise with one of her own. When she makes no move to get down, when Jared grabs her thighs to keep her in place, Chad pouts harder. “Get off my damn girlfriend!”

To be fair, he’d probably be easier to take seriously if they could see more than his lips moving around in the pin art he’s pressed his face into. 

“Ouch!” he exclaims, pulling the toy away from his face. “That fucker stabbed me in the lip.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk into the metal pins, idiot,” Sophia suggests, untangling herself from Jared’s embrace and shoving her hands deep into the back pockets of her jeans. “This is amazing, Jay,” she adds, rubbing one hand over his back before she moves on to explore the rest of the room.

The break room is cool, Jared knows. It has all of the kitchen appliances they could possibly need, a table big enough for all five of the staff members to eat around - if they ever actually got a chance to sit down and eat together - and the massage chair, along with a closet the full length of one wall where they can store equipment and merchandise.

Jared wasn’t thrilled with the idea of selling shirts and hats at first, but Chad’s logo is fucking sick, so he couldn’t not print it up once it was finished.

“There is more, ya know?” he asks, nodding toward the curtain that separates their personal space from the rest of the shop.

He lets them file through first, imagining the looks on their faces as they take in the new space.

Each station sports a new, state-of-the-art chair, chrome countertops, and more drawer space than they all used to have put together. The reception desk matches the stations, sleek and chrome, and there’s gleaming energy drink machine standing next to it. The long, wraparound leather couch that Sophia picked out faces the front window allows their clients a spectacular view of the ocean and the pier’s infamous Ferris Wheel.

He watches his staff, his friends, roam the room. They’re all touching things and commenting on various elements of the new design as well as the art Jared commissioned from each of them to color the walls of this home they’re all building together. 

This place couldn’t possibly belong to anyone other than the five people standing in it right now. It’s not just his, but theirs, and Jared is proud to share it.

“Jay, man,” Steve says, voice calm and steady, as he comes to stand next to Jared. “You outdid yourself, dude. It’s phenomenal.” He claps a hand over Jared’s shoulder and nods.

Pride swells in Jared’s chest as Sophia and Sandy echo Steve's sentiments, hugging him again and then returning to the front desk to look over the new software Jared bought to help Sandy with scheduling. 

Another bump against his shoulder catches Jared's attention and he turns his head to see Chad beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“What?” Jared asks.

Chad just shrugs, nonchalant as always. “We made it, man,” he breathes, and Jared smiles

Five years ago, he wouldn't let himself dream that this was possible. “Yeah, we did,” he agrees, arms crossed over his chest. 

As he surveys the empire he’s just beginning to build, he thinks that it just doesn’t get any better than this.

He has no way of knowing that, two weeks from now, his entire life is going to tip upside down. When it rights itself again, it will be more full and so much better than Jared has ever even considered dreaming.

*

“Get your ass up, you lazy fucker!”

Eyes squeezed shut, Jensen rolls over on Chris’ couch and presses his face further into his pillow. He has no intention of moving from this place until he’s damn good and ready. Chris can eat it if he thinks Jensen’s going to jump just because he says so.

To his credit, Chris doesn’t argue. He doesn’t bother Jensen for another full minute. When he comes back, though, he sits his lard ass on top of Jensen’s prone body, wiggling his ass against Jensen’s ribs until he gets the reaction he wants.

“Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Jensen exclaims, pain burning through his chest as he fights himself free of Chris’ crushing weight. Chris isn’t the biggest guy in the world, but he’s sitting on Jensen’s fucking ribs. Breathing is a thing he needs to do. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands, throwing Chris off and scowling as Chris stands, laughing.

“Come on. We got shit to do,” Chris snaps his fingers and then disappears from the living room into the kitchen, allowing the door to slam firmly behind him.

Jensen vaguely remembers Chris saying something about heading down to the pier to meet some guy in his band today. Jensen can’t remember the guy’s name, but he doesn’t really remember if they actually made plans or if he dreamed them. He’s too tired to be sure of anything right now.

Jensen has only been in California for three days. On Monday, he’ll start a new job, designing skate decks for Element. 

He’s an unapologetic skater kid who had no business spending five hours in that goddamn honky tonk Chris took him to last night. He drank more than he’s used to - anything is more than he’s used to - in order to keep his mouth shut against some of the looks he was getting. All he wants now is to sleep in silence before the grind of an actual job invades his life. Why is that so hard to understand?

He sits, staring at the floor for the better part of what has to be an hour. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even really think. He just sits there, staring.

“C’mon, man,” Chris’ voice prods from the kitchen, where the smell of bacon grease is doing nothing for Jensen’s hangover. 

It’ll be good once he gets it in his belly, he’s sure, but for now the smell is making him want to run for the bathroom. He would do that if it didn’t involve, ya know, getting up and moving.

 

Standing slowly on legs that don't seem to want to function on their own, he makes his way across the living room and pushes into the kitchen. 

It's weird to him, walking through Chris's house. Jensen feels like he just graduated from high school, like they can’t possibly be old enough to do any of the things that actual grown ups do, but Chris has a nine-to-five with a security company. He pays his bills on time, owns a home, and actually gets out of bed before noon. He cooks and, yesterday, Jensen caught him cleaning the bathroom. Chris is a full-on adult now and Jensen wishes he know how that happened and how to make it stop.

He slumps against the counter, scrubbing one hand over his stubbled face. He's twenty-eight years old, a college graduate. It used to bother his parents that Jensen would rather work retail and other odd jobs to make money instead of settling into a career that put the degree they paid so much money for to good use. 

It’s never bothered Jensen. He’s always danced to the beat of his own drummer. Other people’s opinions have never mattered to him all that much. He likes the things that he likes. If anyone else doesn’t like those things, they don’t have to hang out with him. It’s not that hard to understand really.

“Shit, son,” Chris laughs, his ponytail shaking as he looks up from the stove to cast an assessing gaze over Jensen. “What happened to my boy? The one who used to party all night and still look supermodel pretty the next morning?”

Jensen raises an eyebrow and fights the urge to tell Chris that this is what happens to his boy when he drinks too much. He's never been against alcohol exactly, doesn’t consider himself straight edge or anything. He's been known to tip a few back on occasion, but Jensen's never been a big fan of the taste of most alcohol. Being as he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him anyway, he refuses to get hammered just to be like all of his friends.

Instead of slipping off on that soapbox, though, he settles for saying, “Fuck you.” It's concise, to the point, and doesn't require much movement from his still-half-numb lips.

“There he is,” Chris winks knowingly, pulling the pan from the stove to dump lumps of eggs onto two separate plates. 

Jensen would roll his eyes, if it didn't hurt his brain so much to do so. “I hate you,” he mutters through a sleep-grumbled voice that sounds foreign to his own ears.

Dropping Jensen's plate in front of him, Chris points at it and speaks around a mouthful of his own breakfast. “Eat up, Champ. We got shit to do. Pull yourself the fuck together.”

He's grouchy, but Jensen does as he's told, he eats his eggs and even tries to smile. He figures he owes Chris that much, at the very least.

Chris has been really good to him in the last few days. Jensen showed up on Chris’ front doorstep, unannounced, with a couple of suitcases and a smile. The fact that Chris is even still talking to him is a testament to the strength of a their friendship, nearly fifteen years in the making now.

Jensen was twelve when he got his first skateboard. He still refers to that birthday as The Day that Changed His Life, caps and all. He was hanging out at the skate park down the street from his house when a couple of older kids started picking on his friend, Ty. Chris popped up out of nowhere, cigarette between his lips, and told the other kids to fuck off.

He was sixteen at the time, Chris was, and Jensen wanted to be just like him. Jensen’s parents didn’t want their little boy hanging out with a teenager, but it wasn’t as though they spent _all_ their time together. Jensen was in sixth grade and Chris was in high school. They’re lives were so different, so Jensen only really saw him when he and Ty were skating, when Chris was busy hanging out by the fence and flirting with the girls who were his own age. 

It wasn’t until Jensen started high school that he and Chris started hanging out all the time. They’ve been pretty inseparable ever since, really, much to Jensen’s parents’ chagrin. In fact, the last time Jensen saw his parents, the conversation turned to Chris just before Jensen stormed out and swore he’d never be back.

He was twenty-one when his mother tried to set him up with Rhonda Hurley, a girl he’d grown up with, graduated from high school with, and knew best from church. Aside from a few weird rumors about a pair of pink panties, Rhonda was sweet and adorable and pretty much everything the perfect girlfriend is supposed to be.

Jensen wasn’t straight, though. He still isn’t, and he’s founds that makes a hetero relationship rather difficult to maintain. He tried explaining that to his mother for what felt like the one hundredth time. His father asked if it was because Chris had touched him “inappropriately” when he was in junior high.

So Jensen took his leave. His mother had the decency to apologize for his father later that year, when she called to beg him to come home for Thanksgiving, but Jensen wasn’t feeling quite so forgiving. He informed her that he would be having dinner with Chris and his new boyfriend, Rex. His father called a week later to let him know that his immature actions were breaking his mother's heart. Jensen hasn't talked to him since.

Sometimes he wishes that he could have celebrated this move with them, that they could just move past the drama and share in the utter joy he felt when he got the call from Element. It's the realization of a dream he's had since he was fourteen, and it would be nice to know that his parents are proud of him. Chris as his family now, though, and he is plenty amped for the path Jensen's dreams are leading him down, so maybe he doesn't need anything else.

After a quick shower, Chris gives him a guided tour of everything between his house and the Santa Monica Pier. When they ease into a parking space behind a long row of what appears to be retail shops, Jensen's glad Chris is letting him blast Green Day's _American Idiot_ album from the truck's speakers. It sounds like California in the cab, and nothing looks more like the West Coast than those waves and that damned Ferris wheel. This is the moment that Jensen falls hopelessly in love with Santa Monica and lets himself think that his life is finally clicking into place.

Little does he know that, in less than fifteen minutes, he'll fall in love once again. He may just be forced to give a new date to The Day That Changed His Life.

*

“Jay-red Pad-a-lecki!” Chris's voice booms over the sounds of the Marilyn Manson song flowing from Slinging Ink's impossibly loud speakers. “What the fuck have you done, son?” he laughs and Jensen is more concentrated on making sure the glass door doesn't shatter than on whomever his best friend is addressing in whatever strange language he's now speaking. Seriously, what's a Padalecki?

Chris’ question is met with a resounding laugh, the kind that starts building in his chest and echoes off everything around him. When Jensen turns his attention to the actual interior of the tattoo parlor, he almost chokes on the coffee just purchased down the pier.

If there is a more beautiful human being on the face of this planet, of any planet, Jensen is sure he’s never fucking seen him. Fuckin’ hell.

This Jared is about twelve feet tall with full sleeves of tattoos and these dancing eyes that might be blue, but Jensen can’t be sure. His teeth are impossibly white, his shoulders impossibly broad, and his muscles impossibly inviting beneath the multi-colored ink there. It takes every ounce of self-discipline Jensen has not to step around Chris and sink his teeth into Jared’s body.

Jared steps forward, wraps Chris in a half-hug, and then tosses a look back to his own station. He narrowly misses noticing Jensen at all, which is totally fine. It just gives Jensen more time to notice him is all. It gives him more time to gawk and gape and generally look like an idiot without being noticed.

“You like?” Jared asks.

He voice isn’t exactly deep, but it’s definitely dripping with enthusiasm and pride. It’s sensual, stirring more than Jensen’s interest.

Chris laughs and shakes his head, awe clear on his face. “Man, it’s like a totally different place,” he says, turning to Jensen. “A month ago, this place looked like one of those joints you see in movies, dude. Shoulda been called The Rusty Needle or some shit. It was all linoleum floors and white walls and shit.” He points to the couch and shakes his head. “Used to have to sit on fucking folding chairs to wait your turn.” He turns back to Jared and slaps him on the back. “This is fucking fantastic, son.”

*

Though he’s not one to revel in a compliment, Chris’ overwhelming support of his new shop fills Jared with an overwhelming sense of pride. Being open to the public now is awesome, but having the regulars, the people who know what strides they’ve made here, is pretty damn cool.

He soaks in the praise for a second and then looks over his shoulder to the friend Chris brought along with him. In that moment, Jared promptly forgets every word he’s ever learned.

Steve mentioned that Chris might be bringing some friend of his by for a meet and greet, but Jared was expecting another long-haired, neo-surf hippie like Steve. At best, he thought it might be another urban cowboy like Chris.

Nothing prepared him for this guy.

He looks like one of those Warped Tour guys Jared tattoos sometimes, like he belongs in a punk/pop band or something. His Black Flag tee shirt clings to his lean chest and broad shoulders, falling just over the waistband of his skin-tight jeans. He’s wearing ridiculously huge skater shoes with electric blue laces. Jared’s never been attracted to skaters, but fuck him, this one is special.

His hair is cut short, the tips spiked up and dyed a vibrant green. There are rings in his eyebrow and his ears, along with a metal stud just below his lip. Dark liner surrounds his green eyes, making the light color shine in the natural light flowing through those huge windows at the front of the shop. The guy raises his arm, runs his hand over his hair, and Jared catches sight of the rainbow flag tattooed on the inside of his left wrist.

“You just gonna stand there and drool on yourself, or be an actual human being and say hi?” Sophia asks, pushing Jared's shoulder as she thrusts her hand into the new guy's and he smiles at her in a way that feels like maybe it sets Jared's chest on fire a little bit. “I'm Sophia,” she introduces herself, casting another chastising look over her shoulder. “That bumbling moron is Jared. That’s Sandy, and that,” she turns the other direction and points, “is Chad.”

“Her boyfriend,” Chad asserts with a friendly grin and a wink, and the new guy just nods and shares a conspiratorial grin with Sophia. 

“Jensen,” he says, and Jared's brain finally reminds him that he's the owner of this establishment and should stop acting like a gaping buffoon. 

“Steve said you just moved here?” Jared asks.

Jensen nods and smiles as Jared's hand envelops his. God damn, it’s a firm, warm handshake. “Yeah,” he answers when Jared releases his hand. “For work,” he adds, smiling a bit shyly, maybe coyly.

Jared eases himself onto the arm of the sofa, eyes fixed solely on Jensen, back-lit by the afternoon sun. Gold flecks dance in his green eyes, and Jared can't make himself want to back away from them. “What do you do?” he asks, 

“I, uh,” he runs his hand over the back of his hair and laughs before he clears his throat. “I design skate decks for Element.” 

Jared is known for being pretty zen amongst his friends and associates, but he can feel the bright smile nearly splitting his face in half. “That’s cool, man,” he nods, trying to regain some composure, but he has a feeling it’s going to be difficult with this guy.

Before Jensen can respond, Chris pops up over his shoulder. “C’mon, man, wantcha to meet Steve.” He shoots an obvious, apologetic look at Jared and says, “I’ll bring him back in a sec.”

Jared heads back to his station, goes about his business, or at least tries to look busy as he shuffles things around his station. He can feel eyes on him, Sandy’s in particular, but he ignores her.

Finally, he hears Steve say, “Jay’s the best in the business, man. You’re in good hands.”

Jared leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and shrugs when Jensen turns to him and smiles. He nods his head once, confirmation of Steve’s words, and watches as Jensen crosses to him with a bit of tension in his shoulders.

Jensen sits himself down in Jared’s chair, looks up through eyelashes that are too long to be legal. “So what are we doin’?” he asks, sinking onto his stool and rolling it closer to his client. 

Normally, he would wait until he has a design in hand to get this close. Normally, he doesn’t have anything more than artistic motives for sliding in next to the clients on his table.

It takes a minute for Jensen to answer, his eyes roaming over Jared’s face and shoulders as he thinks it over. “Texas,” he finally blurts out.

“The whole state?” Jared asks, his lip quirking into an amused grin.

“Yes, smart ass,” Jensen says, sinking back comfortably and rolling his eyes. “We are doin' the entire state of Texas. You up for it?”

“Always up for it, man,” he winks, turning away when Jensen just chuckles at the response. He grabs a sketch book and flips through the pages until he finds what he's looking for. “Something like this?” he asks, offering the book to Jensen.

There are pictures of the state flag, outlines of the state, the motto - _friendship_ \- and name of the state in different scripts. There’s a lot of Texas in those pages Jensen is holding, considering. For a second, Jared thinks Jensen might back out, but he just bites his lip and keeps staring at the laminated pages. 

“Not what you're thinkin'?” Jared's voice interrupts his thoughts and he smirks again when Jensen lifts those hypnotizing eyes from the book in front of him. “How about,” he stands from his stool and pulls the leg of his jeans up to his knee before turning and nodding over his shoulder, “Somethin' like that?”

He watches Jensen staring at him, watches the way his eyes stop at Jared’s ass and then continue down to the tattoo on Jared’s calf. It’s the outline of Texas, filled in with the star and stripes of the state flag, one Jared had inked to remind himself of what he left behind, what’s behind him.

“You too?”

Easing back onto his stool, Jared bends at the waist to smooth his pant leg back out before nodding. “San Antonio,” he says with an underlying sense of pride only a true Texan can manage.

“Dallas,” he nods and Jared smiles even wider as he grabs a piece of paper and a fine-tipped Sharpie from his station.

“Give me two minutes to sketch it out and I'll be right back,” he promises, leaving Jensen in his chair and making his way to Sandy's reception desk. He could sketch it out at his station, but he's been feeling her dark eyes boring into him since Jensen entered the shop, and he's afraid she might burst soon if he doesn't let her squeal and giggle about what she's observing.

“So,” Sandy tries for casual and fails miserably.

“What?” Jared challenges, eyes fixed solely on the paper and the pen in his hand.

“He's hot,” is her response. When Jared only nods, Sandy sinks an elbow into his ribs. “Jared, he's gorgeous,” she hisses, eyes following Jensen's path as he stands from Jared's chair and heads to the back corner, where he leans against Chris's shoulder and eases himself into their conversation.

Rolling his eyes, Jared tilts his head and considers his sketch. “This is LA, Sandra,” he reminds her. “Everybody's gorgeous here.”

“Not that gorgeous,” she shakes her chestnut ponytail and narrows her eyes as they sweep over Jensen's back. “Even with the hair and the,” her nose turns up slightly, “clothes.” Blinking, she turns back to Jared and finds his eyes on her for the first time since he joined her at the counter. “You gonna ask him out?”

Jared wants to smack his huge hand playfully against the back of her tiny head. Instead, he huffs out a sigh and picks his paper up off the counter. “I might,” he alludes, rolling his hip off the reception desk and heading back to his station to prep his ink wells.

When Jensen comes back, flops into Jared’s chair, he says, “So, I kinda got a favor to ask.”

Jared just grins brightly as he snaps his black rubber gloves into place and then meets Jensen's eye with a dangerous glint. “Ask away.”

“Alright. Um, well, I've been here for three days, right? And so far, Chris has taken me to a honky tonk called The Silver Stallion, and a pool hall with dirt floors and actual, literal gas lamps on the walls.” Jensen groans and all Jared can do is laugh. “You gotta help me out, right? I didn’t move out here to live the redneck high life.”

Pressing the pattern he’s created against Jensen’s forearm, he notes the way Jensen’s muscles flex beneath the skin Jared is about to mark. “So what do you propose I help you do about that, Jen?” he asks, the nickname rolling off his lips naturally.

“Take me somewhere, I don't know, man, cooler?” When Jared doesn’t look up, Jensen ups the ante. “I'll buy you dinner. All the drinks you want wherever we go. I just,” he shakes his head, “I can't take another night out with the cast of _Deliverance_.”

Jared laughs, glancing up through his hair before he captures his bottom lip between his teeth. “You got a car?” he asks. When Jensen nods, he says, “Alright. Swing by here around ten. We’ll grab dinner and I’ll show you where the cool people hang out.” 

Why the fuck not? Jensen seems cool and he’s undeniably fucking hot. There’s no reason not to take him out tonight.

With a satisfied smile, Jensen lets his eyes drift to the place where Jared's fingers are stretching his skin tightly, and he says, “It's a date,” almost more to himself than to Jared.

Jared looks up, meets Jensen’s eyes straight on, and lets himself smile brightly. “Definitely a date,” he winks.

As he begins to color in the design, flirting and talking with Jensen, he makes himself a simple vow: He’ll have this punked out skater kid naked and hanging off his bed by the time the sun rises tomorrow morning. He’s even considering making the guy breakfast which, for Jared, is about as close to a declaration of love as anyone’s ever gotten.

*

This morning, if anyone had told Jensen that he was going to be strolling along with the hottest guy he’s ever seen, belly full of the best steak he’s had outside of Texas, he probably would have rolled his eyes and laughed them off. He might have told them to fuck off and stop being ridiculous.

Chris calls Jensen emo, but Jensen isn’t sure anyone who uses that term actually knows what it means. Yes, he dresses like a punk rock pop star and he listens to a lot of music that fits into that category, but he’s not an emotional guy. He’s not stoic exactly, but he doesn’t get worked up very easily.

Since the second he walked into Slinging Ink, his feelings have been spiking all over the place. Everything Jared says and does, all of the things he doesn’t say or do, are driving Jensen out of his mind. 

Just sitting across the table from Jared at the restaurant was its own delicious brand of torture. When Jensen was staring at Jared’s mouth, he was imagining what his lips would look like stretched around Jensen’s cock instead of that steak he was eating. When he wasn’t distracted by that, he was drawn to the roll of muscles under Jared’s shoulders every time he moved his fork or lifted his glass. His inhumanly long fingers caused another set of challenges unto themselves.

Chris teased Jensen pretty incessantly after they left the shop earlier this afternoon. He kept asking Jensen what he was going to wear on his date, if he had specific nail polish and eyeliner in mind for such a special occasion. It was bull shit that would get Chris’ ass kicked on any other day, but Jensen was too busy being excited about seeing Jared again to get too upset.

Over dinner, Jensen learned that Jared hasn’t really even though about going back to Texas since he left six and a half years ago. He now knows how this wunderkind came to own his own business and how he’s become one of the premier tattoo artists in Southern California. He knows that Jared considers the previous owner of Slinging Ink, Ed, to be the absolute coolest guy he’s ever met. 

They’ve talked music; Jared could live on Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails, as long as he could have old-school Metallica thrown in for a variety of occasions. They’ve talked about movies; Jared is a fan of classic B-grade horror, but it’s not hard to drag him to a good action fick. He doesn’t have cable in his apartment because he and Chad couldn’t afford it when they moved in and haven’t bothered to get it since they started making enough cash. 

He was surprised to find that Jared is really well read. He’s a fan of everything from Vonnegut to Palahnuik to Rand and Niche. Jensen doesn’t read much himself, so hearing Jared talk about _Slaughterhouse Five_ and _The Fountainhead_ makes him feel uneducated. He didn’t even know _Fight Club_ was a book first.

By the time they tumbled out of the restaurant and started walking toward a club, Jensen had barely noticed that Jared doesn’t talk about where he comes from much. To be fair, though, Jensen feels like there’s enough to know about who Jared is now, let alone who he was before Jensen met him.

Jensen, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop talking about growing up outside of Dallas more than he talks about anything he’s doing now. It doesn’t seem to bother Jared, hearing stories about Jensen’s past, but it also doesn’t inspire him to talk about where he came from. It’s fine, Jensen doesn’t push. 

Instead, he tells Jared about how he started entering competitions with his art when he was fourteen, including how he never told his parents about the prize money he raked in throughout high school because he didn’t want them to make him give part of it to the church. 

Jared seems surprised that Jensen grew up with extremely Christian parents, but doesn’t despise religion in general. “I’ve never been a spiritual kind of guy, but you gotta do you, man,” he says when Jensen mentions that he still likes going to church sometimes.

He already told Jared about his four tattoos, earlier today while Jared was inking his arm, but it comes up again while they’re walking along a fairly deserted street along the backside of a row of restaurants and storefronts. 

“The rainbow flag was the first one,” he rehashes for Jared, laughing and shaking his head at his sixteen-year-old self. “Basically just a big ‘fuck you’ to my parents after I came out of the closet.” Jared nods, like he’s been there before, and watches carefully as Jensen raises his arm. “The nautical stars on my elbows are supposed to symbolize blazing my own trail, I guess. I got those after I stopped talkin’ to my folks a few years back.”

There’s a cross on Jensen’s left bicep, wrapped in a scroll that says ‘faith.’ He doesn’t bother talking about it tonight because a.) is pretty self-explanatory and b.) it’s pretty personal. He hints at the one beneath his jeans, a design he came up with himself, because he’s nothing if not obviously flirtatious right now.

Jensen’s not one to fall quickly, not into anything more than pure, primal lust anyway, but he can admit that Jared is getting to him. He wants to hear Jared talk about himself, about his life and his opinions, almost as much as he wants to hear his own named growled out of Jared’s fucked-raw throat. He wants to see him smile, to touch him and taste him and take him apart one piece at a time, but also to drink and laugh and talk with him. 

“I don't dance,” Jensen says as they wade through the writhing sea of bodies in a darkened club, headed for the bar in the back of the room. 

The bartender notices Jared immediately and hands him two sweating bottles without a word. When he turns and offers one to Jensen, Jared smirks. “Neither do I,” he nods over his shoulder, leading the way to a set of stairs off to the left of the bar.

The view as Jensen climbs after Jared is not terrible.

Jared says hi to a few people lazing about the VIP lounge, continuing on to the back corner of the room without stopping to talk with anyone. He lowers himself onto the soft, leather sofa and spreads his arm over the back, nodding for Jensen to join him. 

Jensen presses in close, cuddled up to Jared in a way that he shouldn’t be with someone he just met. Dates aren’t supposed to be like this, this easy and comfortable. There’s got to be something horrific right around the corner, doesn’t there? This shit isn’t normal.

As if reading his mind, Jared asks, “You ever kill a man, Jensen?” 

Without missing a beat, Jensen looks Jared dead in the eye, and says, “Only once. Clean up's a bitch, though. Too lazy to do it again.”

Jared laughs as his fingers are playing with the hairs at the base of Jensen's neck. His eyes are focused on Jensen’s mouth for a minute, but he leans in like it’s nothing, just kisses Jensen like they’ve been doing it their whole lives.

Jensen's not a big fan of kissing, not when there's so many other kinds of fun to be had with someone else. But goddamn, Jared makes kissing as much an art form as the tats he etches for a living. It's not desperate or hurried, but it's not hesitant or gentle, either. Jared knows what he wants, and he's taking it. Jensen's more than happy to give it.

Between making out like teenagers, sprawled across the couch, Jared and Jensen talk and drink and laugh. A few people stop by to say catch up with Jared and he introduces Jensen with quick explanations of every person.

“Jesus, man,” Jensen finally says, shaking his head as a couple of pierced girls walk away hand-in-hand. “You're like the fucking mayor of Santa Monica or some shit,” he says, chuckling.

Jared doesn't deny it, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed by the observation, either. “Been here a few years. Business is good. People know me,” he shrugs.

“That’s not the impressive part,” Jensen corrects him, angling to sit fully on the couch instead of right in Jared’s lap, which is where he’d much rather be. “It makes sense that they know you. You remembering every one of them is the cool part.”

“Basic human decency, dude,” is Jared’s response.

*

The leave their second club around three, the sleeve of Jensen’s tee shirt rubbing against Jared’s shoulder. It’s not cold, but there’s a definite chill blowing in off the water. That must be where the chill is coming from.

“So, why tats?” Jensen asks suddenly when they're back in Jared's truck, weaving through the nearly-deserted streets.

Jared considers it for a second, but answers with, “I’m a sadist.” Jensen snorts and Jared is proud of himself for illiciting the response. “I figure, why paint or draw or whatever when you can jab someone with needles instead?” 

He could head back to the pier right now, take Jensen back to his car and call it a night, but he doesn’t want to. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he hits the speed dial and waits for the answer on the other end.

“Where are you?” Jensen raises his eyebrow but says nothing. “Headed that way. Just, I don’t know, don’t come home tonight, alright?”

When Jared tosses his phone onto the dashboard, Jensen licks his lips and asks, “Domestic troubles?”

With a short shake of his head, Jared rakes his fingers through his hair and his grin only widens. “Figured you don't want Chad seein' you all naked and spread out on my bed.”

Jensen doesn’t argue.

They're barely in the front door before Jensen has Jared pinned against the wall, fingers buried deep in his hair. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t defer to Jared in the least, and Jared is writhing for it. He doesn’t give up control often, but he wants to now. 

Finally, he captures Jensen’s face in his hands and manages to guide them through the entry and into the living room. They crash into the wall outside of Jared’s bedroom, but he’s not actually worried about being graceful at the moment. He’s got two hundred pounds of aggressive man in his arms, so he’s not complaining about a few bumps and bruises.

They fall onto the bed in an uncoordinated lump and Jared's still trying to catch his breath when he feels a sting in his left shoulder. Pulling back, he looks down at the impish grin on Jensen's full lips. “Dude, did you just bite me?”

Jensen’s only response is to take advantage of Jared’s surprise and flip him onto his back. He straddles Jared’s hips and says, “Be glad I waited until we were alone.” He dips his head to skim his teeth along Jared’s collarbone, along the wizard tattooed in vibrant blue against the swell of his right shoulder. “I been wanting to sink my teeth into these muscles all fuckin’ day,” he adds.

Jared doesn't consider himself vanilla in the least, but dammit if he didn't know being nipped and licked like a human salt block could take him from half-hard to diamond-cutter in less than a second. “Dude, come on,” he protests, attempting to maneuver Jensen back to his mouth. 

Unfortunately, Jensen seems perfectly content to trace every last drop of ink on Jared’s hot, tanned skin with his tongue, seems fucking determined to do it. While Jared would love to take advantage of his size in this situation, he can’t stop himself from whining and wriggling every time Jensen concentrates his attention on another jumping and rolling muscle.

By the time Jensen’s stripped out of his clothes, by the time he’s working hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over the _life life loud_ scripted across Jared’s hip, Jared is sure he’s going to lose his fucking mind. He may come just from being licked.

“What the fuck are you doin’ to me, man?” he asks, breath heavy in the silent air between them. 

In response, Jensen increases his suction on Jared’s pelvic bone, causing Jared’s hips to jerk up from the bed. Jensen raises his eyes, his tongue dragging back to Jared’s hip until his teeth clamp over the cut of the muscle and bone there. He doesn’t speak but the laughter that rumbles low in his chest vibrates against Jared’s skin.

Jared comes violently, without warning, chest heaving and eyes clenched tightly. He's never, not even when he was a kid, come without so much as a hint of a touch to his cock. Jensen hasn't laid a finger on him yet. In fact, his hands are held behind his back, like he's making a conscious effort not to use them. 

He feels like he should embarrassed by his astounding lack of stamina, but Jensen's had Jared on edge since they met. To be fair, he's been thinking about fucking him since they left the shop earlier tonight. He deserves a goddamn medal for holding out as long as he has. 

Also, it's hard to be embarrassed about anything when Jensen is back to licking, this time gathering the come from Jared's stomach onto his tongue while his eyes flutter shut in what appears to be total bliss. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jared groans and lets his head fall back onto the mattress. He cannot watch that right now, not if he wants to be anything resembling useful for the next few hours.

Sliding onto the bed, Jensen presses himself flush against Jared’s side. He’s still fully clothed, for fuck’s sake. 

“Jesus, Jay,” Jensen breathes against Jared’s ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and tugging on it for a brief moment. “You’re so fucking hot.”

For the first time in his life, Jared feels out of his depth. He’s usually the aggressor here in this room. Normally, he’s the one setting the pace and teasing and torturing the plaything he brought home for the night. Jensen’s all but made him forget his own damn name. The worst, or maybe the best, thing is that Jared can’t even be bothered to care about it right now.

 

He’s not going to take it lying down, though. He can’t let Jensen think he’s a lightweight or something. 

When his breathing return to normal, Jared hitches himself up on his elbow and lets his eyes roam the length of Jensen’s body. “Off,” he yanks on the tee shirt.

Jensen takes the most unsubtle of hints with ease.

There’s no shame, not an ounce of self-consciousness or a single shred of hesitation as Jensen backs off the bed and rips his shirt over his head. He toes off his shoes and doesn’t bother unbuttoning his pants before sliding them over his hips and kicking them away. He’s just completely unabashed as he stands before Jared’s scrutiny.

Of course, Jared can’t see a damn thing Jensen should be ashamed of. He’s not muscles on top of muscles or anything, but he’s damn toned, way more than the average emo kid. There’s an interlocking design of arrows and circles etched on Jensen’s hip, the one tattoo that Jared hadn’t seen before now. It’s intricate and beautiful and, in Jared’s professional opinion, Jensen did a great job designing it for himself.

Maybe he’ll tell Jensen so later, but for now, he just says, “Damn,” and reaches forward to grab Jensen's wrist before Jensen can so much as protest. 

Jensen just watches, smirking, as Jared leads him to the spot between his knees. He grips Jensen’s hips with firm fingers, wicked smile on his lips as he leans forward to catch the silver ring through Jensen’s nipple between his teeth. When he tugs on it, Jensen’s head falls back and he growls.

Jared can’t say if it’s minutes or hours that he tongues and sucks at the ring before moving on to the other one. Jensen clutches Jared’s hair in one hand, bracing his other hand against Jared’s shoulder to stay upright. 

He can hear himself growling, feel his body moving along with the sway of Jensen’s, as he kneads and presses at Jensen’s round, perfect ass. His chest is rubbing warm against Jensen’s impossibly hard cock. 

“Dude,” Jensen gasps when Jared scoots forward on the mattress enough to trap Jensen's cock harder between them. “Jesus fuck, Jared,” he grunts, eyes dropping when Jared stops with the nipple play.  


When their eyes meet, Jared lays his tongue flat against Jensen's sternum and drags it up as far as he can before grabbing the back of Jared's head and pulling him down. He rocks forward to maintain contact, yanking Jensen's head back to expose the column of his throat, where he sucks and nips at his throat, exactly as Jensen did to him earlier. 

“Shit,” Jensen manages to growl as Jared releases his head and plunges his tongue into Jensen's mouth the second his face snaps forward again.

As he fucks his tongue into that pliant mouth, Jared feels Jensen's hips begin to rock beneath his hands. “C'mon, Jen,” he pulls back enough to grit the command into Jensen's mouth. “Just fuckin' come on me,” he encourages, fingers barely whispering over the crack of Jensen’s fuckable, little ass. “C'mon, man. Let it go,” he continues, words jagged and raw against the backdrop of their heavy breathing and Jensen's muted whimpers. 

A strangled grunt sounds just before he feels the first splash against his chest, and Jared's hand instinctively fists Jensen's cock, milking him through several more brutal thrusts. He's exploding hot and hard against Jared's chest, coating him in thick stripes of come. “Goddammit, Jensen, fuck,” he mutters as Jensen's spine bows, his forehead falling onto Jared's shoulder. 

After what feels like an eternity of coming, Jensen collapses against Jared in an awkward heap. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs, barely rolling away in time to see Jared trailing his fingers through Jensen’s come on his own chest. “Oh fuck me,” he groans, rolling his head away with a chuckle.

Jared rolls onto his side and lowers his head to catch Jensen's earlobe. “Taste so fuckin' good, Jen,” he says, winking when Jensen turns to see him sucking his finger clean.

“You keep that shit up, you're gonna fuckin' kill me, man,” Jensen warns, his voice thin and tired.

The laughter rumbles from Jared's throat as he trails the backs of his fingers down the center of Jensen's chest. “Don't you dare fall asleep on me, old man,” he teases. “Not even close to done with you yet.”

With an exaggerated, old man groan, Jensen rolls himself over and pins Jared’s arms above his head. “Don’t worry, junior,” he teases, sinking his teeth once more into  
Jared's shoulder. “I will wear your ass out.”

*

“Jesus Christ!”

Jared startles at the exclamation, body trying to dart up beneath Jensen’s cheek. Too bad Jensen is wrapped around him like vines on the side of a building. He doesn’t move when Jared rolls his head to the side, doesn’t budge or give an inch whatsoever. They’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours. Jared’s asshole roommate can suck it for all Jensen cares.

“Shut your motherfucking door, asshole,” Chad shouts. “Nobody wants to come home and find your big ass all fucked out naked in plain view of the front fucking door.” He continues shouting as he makes his way down the hall. “Smells like sex in here. Buncha damn cockwhores.”

The statement makes Jared laugh quietly, his chest vibrating through Jensen.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Jensen grumbles against Jared's shoulder when Chad screeches fifteen minutes later and screams something that sounds like ' _fuckin' come on the goddamn shower wall, nasty motherfuckers_ ' like he's never fucked anyone in that shower himself.

“The fuck isn't wrong with him?” Jared asks in return.

“Sleep,” Jensen commands, petting haphazardly at Jared’s face as Jared tries to untangle himself and get up.

“Got a client in an hour,” he says.

Jensen burrows his face into Jared’s side, waiting for Jared to get up, but he doesn’t move. As far as Jensen can tell, he’s just sitting there, possibly staring into space. That’s what Jensen does when he wakes up anyway.

He finally lets go of Jared, lets him stand up, and ignores the fact that he’s laughing at Jensen’s general disposition toward morning. It’s possible Jensen might purr a bit when Jared strokes a hand over Jensen’s hair and presses a kiss to the back of his head.

“You can sleep as long as you want, Jen. Don't have to leave.” 

For a brief second, Jensen wishes he was the kind of guy that has the decency to at least roll his lazy ass out of bed when his host for the night does. He thinks maybe he should at least get up and thank Jared for saving him from another ho-down at The Boar's Nest, or at the very least for the most amazing sex anyone’s had ever, in the history of forever.

Instead, he drifts back into a peaceful sleep, wrapped tightly in a blanket he hadn't really needed when Jared was laying next to him like a human fucking furnace. 

When he awakes three hours later, the house is quiet and it takes him a few minutes to figure out just where he is and why his legs feel as sturdy as wet noodles. Struggling to sit, he takes a minute to stare at the floor, runs his fingers through his hair, and stretches his back. He is the best kind of sore in the world. If he can never rid himself of the kinks and cricks in his neck and shoulders, he's pretty sure he won't fucking care.

Finally, his eyes drift to Jared's side of the bed and, more specifically, the note laying against his pillow.

_Party in the Hills tonight. Pick ya up at 11. Wear somethin' pretty for me._

There's a hastily-drawn smiley skull winking back at him from the bottom of the page and Jensen just huffs a laugh as he tosses the paper back to the bed and runs his hands over his face again.

It should probably be weird, this feeling of waking up in a virtual stranger's house, all fucked out and alone. What should probably feel weirder is Jared's assumption that Jensen's going to come with him to some party in the Hollywood Hills or, more importantly, his complete lack of desire to do anything else. 

But not a damn thing about it feels anything but exactly right. Instinctively rubbing the nautical star on his left elbow, he grins at the thought that maybe, just maybe he had to come all the way to California to find his way home.


End file.
